A is for Apples
by AzikaRue394
Summary: When Oliver, out of the goodness of his heart, bakes an apple pie for each of his teammates, he has no idea that his kitchen will soon play host to another of Johnny and Enrique's fights. At the base of this one: Rome versus McIntosh. Attempted humor.


Recently, I asked Demolition-GIRL-33236 to give me a word for every letter of the alphabet so that I could write a oneshot for each one. I needed something fresh to work on. (Sue me, I'm a Gemini.) I tend to hop from thing to thing.

The first word was 'apples' and I had a heck of a time thinking up a semi-interesting idea for this. I chose the Majestics for no apparent reason other than the fact that I wanted to write something else with them, since I read 'Lessons' again a short while ago.

I'm not pleased with this piece of writing, but I hope someone out there takes some interest in it. If not, bah.

Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade.

Enjoy!

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**A is for Apples**

"Do I smell apple pie?"

Oliver rolled his eyes at Enrique's antics. The blond had burst into the kitchen and stood, still holding the door ajar, to make his blatantly loud inquiry with the most ridiculous grin on his face. Most likely, the smell drawn him in more than anything; he had a finely tuned nose for his friend's cooking.

The Frenchman nodded, strumming his fingers on the island's granite top as he sat waiting for the baking timer to go off. "They're still in the oven. They should be done in a bit, though. Then you'll have to wait for them to cool."

Enrique joined the chef at the island and sat down on a bar stool with a sigh. "Your apple pie takes too long to make. Do you use frozen apples or something to make it? Shouldn't you thaw those before putting it in the oven, so you don't make little-old me wait so long?"

"For your information, I use only the freshest apples in my pies. I get them down at that little market on the corner where Pierre orders them special for me. I would never freeze them; they'd have no flavor." Oliver stuck his head up snootily in such a prideful manner than only came about when he was talking about food. He was very proud of his apple pies.

Enrique, knowing nothing about the quality of frozen apples versus fresh ones or baking in general, let the matter go. He laid his head down on the island and said dreamily: "You should add your apple pie recipe to your restaurant's menu. Then I could eat it whenever I wanted and as soon as I wanted."

"Nonsense," Oliver scoffed, slipping on oven mitts to extract his pies from the oven – the timer had sounded off shrilly. "Those guys are chefs, not bakers. They'd never be able to make the pies as well as I do. My recipe would have a mess made of it! On top of that, you probably wouldn't be able to get a fresh baked one without waiting anyway."

As Oliver walked past, Enrique sat up perkily to inhale as much of the pies' scent as was humanly possible. He even went as far as to follow the steamy trail of fragrance over to the counter where the pies were to cool.

While Enrique has a fit over the four pies, the door swung open for the second time that day and the redhead of the group entered.

"Are those finally done?" Johnny demanded, taking a seat on top of the island, much to Oliver's disapproval.

"They still need to cool." Enrique was looking very upset about the fact.

"Well, at least he's finally learned to make each of us our own."

Indeed, Oliver's apple pies had become so popular amongst his teammates that it was now necessary to bake each of them their own. Goodbye fighting over the last piece, hello switching name labels when nobody was looking so that you had the pie with the most pieces left. The winter holidays were another thing altogether.

"Too bad they take longer this way." Enrique hated waiting for anything, but waiting semi-patiently for an apple pie was too much.

Johnny held back a snide remark. If he was nice-ish, maybe Oliver wouldn't kick him out of his kitchen. "What kinds of apples do you use in your pies?" The question was served to butter Oliver up more than anything; the kid could go on for hours about such things.

While Enrique glared at the Scot for having come up with such a clever tactic, Oliver was only too glad to tell them both of his baking prowess. "First I use Granny Smiths to make half-cooked apple sauce which I add to the pie where it finishes cooking along with the rest of the apples. It soaks into the other apples and does wonders for the flavor and texture of the pie. I use two parts Golden Delicious apples (my personal favorite) and one part Winesap apples. I've found that the Golden Delicious and Granny Smiths help to tame the strong flavor of the Winesaps just enough so that a bit of their spice shines through."

"That's really interesting," Johnny commented halfheartedly, not looking up from his nails.

"I found it exhilarating," Enrique proclaimed, doing his share of butt kissing. "I can see why Golden Delicious are your favorite apples, but I prefer the Rome apples myself." Flattery and then a careful steering of the subject back to himself was what Enrique did best. He'd practiced on many a date. "They're named after the greatest place in the world, you know."

"Rome, Ohio?" Johnny raised an eyebrow sardonically.

"No, Rome, Italy," Enrique said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"They originated in Rome, Ohio." Johnny oftentimes felt like he was surrounded by idiots. This one seemed to surround him more often than others. "That's what they're named after."

Enrique puffed up and was about to start an argument that Johnny looked more than eager to participate in when Oliver cleared his throat. Normally that wouldn't have done much coming from the small, green-haired boy, but with a perfectly crafted apple pie on the line for each of them, the pair contented to grumbling under their breath. Although "Who cares about what the Canadians name a city anyway." mumbled by the least-bright of the three almost caused another uproar induced with declarations of Enrique's stupidity.

"What kind of apples do you like, Johnny?" Oliver asked in an effort to relieve the tension.

"McIntosh," was the prompt response.

"That's only because your last name's McGregor." Enrique sneered, wanting to get back at Johnny for bursting his 'Rome, Italy apple' bubble.

"No, actually, it's not." Johnny did his best to keep his cool, but the look he was giving his team member was poison. "But even that would be better than liking an apple because it was named after a place that it wasn't really named after."

Once more the petty squabbling escalated into a full-blown argument. Oliver sighed, wondering how he ever managed to remain sane. These things happened so often that they weren't even amusing anymore unless you were in an incredibly joyful mood, or highly intoxicated. Right now, he was just annoyed.

"Rome apples are better, anyway!"

"No they're not! You only like them because you can't get your Romes straight!"

Oliver tried to interject and tell them that they were both technically right since Rome apples were named after Rome, Ohio which was probably named after Rome, Italy, but neither would listen. Someone had to be right and someone had to be wrong, just like always.

Just when he thought he couldn't take any more, the Frenchman was saved by Robert's arrival. Immediately, he was bombarded.

"Robert, which apples are better: Rome or McIntosh?" Enrique blurted out.

"Personally," the German pushed Enrique back out of his personal bubble which he'd inconsiderately entered, "I've always favored Golden Delicious."

Enrique's and Johnny's jaws dropped and Oliver looked smug as Robert grabbed a pie and a fork and slunk out of the kitchen. Oliver had just won an argument that he hadn't even been a part of.

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A/N: I'm afraid everyone's terribly out of character. I can't write the Majestics.

Oh, and thanks for the list, Macy! It'll come in handy when I need a change of pace.

Review?


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